The Fused Trousers Incident
by Antje
Summary: Fifth year conflicts between the Marauders and Snape lead towards the disarray of magics. Mainly Sirius/Remus, James/Lily.
1. Morning

**The Fused Trousers Incident  
Date Composed**: Mid-October 2007**  
Length**: 15,000 words total  
**Summary**: Fifth year conflicts between the Marauders and Snape lead towards the disarray of magics.**  
Pairings**: Remus/Sirius, James/Lily**  
Warnings**: Oddly turned out to be rather Peter-centric.**  
Disclaimer**: JKR's.**  
A/N**: This was written so long ago, and never released, so I hope it's okay.

*

**(Morning)**

Fifth year had already aged a month. A graceful aging process. No longer were groans heard at breakfast over having to face Slughorn a half-hour after rolling from bed.

'It is abominably rude to see _such a wizard as he_ right after toast and tea.' Sirius had pouted immeasurable times during sixteen days of September. Now, nearly five weeks later, he was reacquainted with his dislike for Slughorn's class, after a bad mark and three consecutive detentions. 'Er, tea and toast, I mean. Er, dammit.' He cursed himself again before James could quip and Peter could snicker. 'I did it again, didn't I?'

He threw a pathetic look at Moony. The werewolf had a way about his eyebrows, throwing a keen sense of pathos into their askance tilt.

'Twice,' Remus answered. Peter cottoned on.

'Tea and mean, Sirius. Lucky for you it only sounded like a rhyme. Not a true rhyme. Question remains, what rhymes with Slughorn?'

'PORN!' cried James. It echoed down the stone corridor and cavernous ceiling. Students queuing at the closed door of Potions class turned squints his direction. Potter didn't mind. He thrived beneath attention. But when he caught the green eyes of a certain Miss Evans, a twinge of shame blossomed before he was able to beat it into submission.

'Unlike our friend James Potter, you must just think before you speak, Sirius,' Remus advised. 'I know this concept has been very difficult for you to practice.'

Sirius's head shook. His glared into the tips of his loafers. 'Nope, Remus, I am beyond hope. Rhyming will have to be a part of me for the entire school year, I'm afraid.'

'You should never have read that book,' said Peter. 'Serves you right.' He backed away a step when Sirius angled his head and flashed his incisors, one of those feral moments Peter abhorred. He huffed confidence into himself. 'Magical books, Sirius, can inflict certain characteristics that­—'

'No, no, no!' Sirius slammed fists into his hair. 'Shut _up_, Peter! I know already!' A vague stare into the distance conjured floating images of an ugly nose and beady eyes. 'It's all Snivellus' fault! If he hadn't tricked me, I never would've read the book in the first place!'

'Yes,' sighed Remus, holding his books close should a wayward fist head his direction with the comment, 'I'm sure Severus twisted your very bendy arms. You did it for sheer braggadocio, and don't try and make the rest of us believe otherwise.'

Sirius refrained from impaling Moony. He was doing that tilting thing with his eyebrows again. The Affinity of Pathos, Sirius had come to call it in his head. Moon and Sympathy. The Moral Compass of a Self-Confessed Lunatic. Deliverance. Deference. The existence of these things. Sirius wagged his head again, the useless play of words temporarily erased. Never again would he read a poem. Never again would he allow Snivellus to inflict a curse upon him. It had been the worse thing that'd happened to him since starting Hogwarts.

He remembered Snivellus laughing, his mouth open wide in a yellow-toothed grin between sheaves of greasy ebony hair. The hilarity of an enemy is a wounding occurrence. It took two days of total quiet, without Sirius opening mouth once, before James and Remus and Peter convinced him that he ought to speak to Madam Pomfrey. Lugged into the candle-lit hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey heard what spokesperson Remus had to say, then shooed the three boys out, holding Sirius by the shoulder. Unable to heal him entirely, she could only give him a potion, taken daily, that would wear away the verbal abuse patterns slowly over the next twelve months. Sirius had never been so humiliated. He'd returned to the dorm, where he and James had planned the first stages of Ultimate Revenge. Such revenge would take years, plotting, planning, execution. Sirius felt like Edmond Dantes, only because Remus had suggested the comparison.

It would take more than money and power to bring down Severus Snape. It would take _ingenuity_.

Remus caught the scent of Severus before catching sight of him. Severus had, but once, always carried his own devastating perfume. And the one incidents was when, last Halloween, Peeves had dropped a water balloon atop Snape's head (and James had uttered that the target was certainly big enough but commended Peeves' choice). Snape _did_ smell unusual, rather like a fen, a week-old carnival, 'of shipping wax and shoes'. Involuntarily, Remus weaved himself between Severus and Sirius as the line budged inside the classroom. He'd learned the unctuous art of coming between Sirius and Fiascos Abounding long ago, and was now able to commit the act without either protected party knowing.

But Peter was abruptly shoved out of the line. He slipped across the floor some distance before stopping against a classmate's shapely shins. She screamed, pulled her robes together to hide the skirt, and kicked Peter away from her. Peter screamed, too, and scrambled to his feet. Books and quills and ink bottles thumped and snapped against the stones.

Acting on instinct, Sirius cuffed the front of Snape's robe in a tight fist. 'Don't—touch—my—friends!' With a three-step running start, Sirius rammed Snape. His own momentum almost swept him to the ground. He recovered in time to watch Snape stumble, lose footing, and collide with the wall.

Snape grimaced and slumped over.

Remus's shoulders fell. Exasperated, he controlled Sirius, while simultaneously managing to keep James from attacking Snape. Peter aided in this faint rescue attempt, but his small stature was no match for James's height or Sirius's strength. They were interested in quickly overpowering Peter, until suddenly realising that Snape was recovering, reaching for his wand—

Snape aimed low, one eye closed for improved sight. A bleb of yellowish sparkles were instantly meeting with Remus. Remus supposed the spell must've been blocked by one of the other students, hitting someone else instead, because he felt absolutely nothing. He expected blood to come shooting of his nose, his fingernails to fall off, his ears to grow hair long enough to braid, but nothing happened. Perplexed, Remus managed Sirius and James, Peter gathered his lost effects, and Slughorn appeared to investigate the commotion.

'Pettigrew dropped his things again,' Snape drawled. He'd tucked his wand out of sight between the folds of his woeful black robes. 'You know how clumsy he is, sir.'

'Ah, right, right,' nodded Slughorn. He glanced dimly at Pettigrew. 'Hurry along then, Pettipot!'

'It's Pettigrew, sir,' mumbled pink-cheeked Peter as he passed under the lintel, squeezing by Horace Slugohorn's rotund stomach. His eyes widened at Remus, the two of them standing around the cauldrons at their table. 'What happened?'

'All right, all right, calm down, calm down!' Slughorn stood at the front of the classroom, plaid waistcoat bright in the sorry lighting. The youthful faces looked back at him, highlighted by flickering flames of cauldron burners. 'Enough excitement for one day, so let's settle down and get our minds situated to _potion making_. Now this is your O.W.L. year, so pay close attention! If you do not wish to succeed in Advanced Potions next year, skive off the next class and see if I care.'

Some students chuckled warmly at Slughorn mischievous remark; others wondered if he wasn't just a bit serious.

'On the board is today's lesson, and a half-roll of parchment will be due tomorrow on its qualities and effects. Now—'

While Slughorn talked, Remus had time to shrug as his three mates looked on at him in wonder. Hadn't they seen Snape hit him with a spell?

Slughorn sensed the often troublesome quartet was distracted. 'Now, Mr Black, if you could read what I have written on the board here—'

Sirius straightened his shoulders. He winced speculatively at the board. 'Er, "Don't forget to buy sugared fruits"?'

'Oh, not that. That's my list for Hogsmeade. The part above.'

'"Wear gloves when measuring winter solstice dew water".'

Slughorn's face took on an unnatural shade of magenta. He sighed through flared nostrils. 'Miss Evans, would you mind terribly?'

Lily Evans cordially read the list.

'Way to mess with his aura, Sirius,' said Peter. He'd learned in Divination to sense, sometimes even see, auras. It was the only especial gift he felt he had.

'He's a crazy loon,' said Sirius. 'Crazy loons should be taken out back and shot, along with curs who talk in the—' he switched his brain from the rhyming word to one that didn't rhyme, 'cinema.'

'And people who rip tags off mattresses,' added Peter.

'And people in the supermarket who rip apart banana bunches,' said Remus.

'Shh! I'm trying to _concentrate_.' James waved an annoyed hand at them.

Peter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. 'Concentrate my eye. You just want to imbue the voice of Miss Evans into your head so you can think about it during those private times in the shower.'

Sirius shoved a palm over his mouth to keep in an explosion of laughter. It would almost be worth an hour's detention! Remus bit on his lips, pondering the same consequence. James glowered at Peter.

'Careful, Pettipot. I wield the power to make parts of your body droop unhealthily for all eternity.'

James was most menacing when his voice lowered to a raspy whisper. He meant no harm towards Peter. Who could harm Peter intentionally? It would be like ripping off the wings of an already injured dragonfly. Then, bursting with fraternity, James had Peter in a headlock, and the top of the round head was kissed exuberantly. By then, the other students were measuring ingredients, cutting frosted gingerroots, and none noticed their antics. If any fellow student watched on, it was with a pang of envy.

At the end of class, Peter started heading for the exit with the rest of the horde, only to be grabbed at the sleeve by Sirius. Peter followed the line of Sirius's vision and found Snape at the end of it. The imposing figure slipped by, up the stairs, and out of the dungeon. Sirius let Peter go.

'Best to avoid him,' Sirius said, struggling to kick the poetry out of his head. 'Best to keep out of Snape's—'

'Devoid?' finished James. He chuckled at Sirius's rumbling growl.

Sirius dived into the bathroom on the way to their next class. He made a kissing face at himself in the mirror before perfecting floppy tendrils of thick liquorice hair. By the time he gathered his books, he realised Moony had not yet emerged from the stall. The bathroom was deathly quiet.

He scratched fingernails on the stall door to announce himself. 'Moony, are you ill? Too much butterbeer last night? The house elves did give us a lot, bless them.'

'Er, no.'

'Are you having a constipation dilemma? Madam Pomfrey has a comfrey to fix you up. Dammit,' his palm met with his forehead, 'sorry.'

To Sirius's surprise, the stall door creaked open. Sirius tilted from a precarious lean near the door, and lifted his chin to Moony. 'I think I've already made enough enquiries about your loo problems. It's your turn to answer. Moony?'

Remus covered his eyes with his hand. 'I know what Snape's spell did.'

'Oh.' Sirius's imagination wound through delves it had never traversed before, the pure evilness of magic when cast to a man's precious keepsakes. 'Oh! Oh no! No, no!—'

'No,' Remus repaired the insinuations. 'No, that's all fine, as far as I can tell.'

'No damaged equipment then?'

'It doesn't appear to be damaged.'

'Good. Because, if Snape had messed with your soldiers, I would command of you his head on a silver platter. There are certain codes of conduct that men should not scatter. Dammit, sorry. What _is_ the problem?'

'The hairs of Merlin's arse!' James stormed in, Peter behind him, and saw Sirius and Remus loafing about near a stall. 'If the two of you keep this up, hiding out in the bathroom, people will talk!'

Sirius perked up a single brow, just at the back corner, towards James. 'You first, James. Why is the brain of a fifteen-year-old Quidditch player always perverted? You must be in great sexual pain.'

Peter snickered. Sirius ignored him. More urgent business pressed, and carefully delivered sallies would have to wait.

'I'm afraid Moony has a problem. Not the furry one, either. It appears to be another sort of problem, sans fur of the, er, full moon variety.'

'What nonsense is this?' James stared at Remus. 'The paragon of health falls from the pantheon? My world crumbles.'

Remus groaned and parted the crowd with his elbows. The other three failed to move. The bathroom, off a well-travelled corridor, would soon be invaded. Remus attempted to make his speech short. With three friends of clever wit, sagacity, and consociation, he knew he'd be lucky to get a sentence out before someone interrupted.

'Well?' prompted Sirius, after waiting an agonising time to hear what Snape had done.

'What is it?' James's voice quivered in paranoia.

'You're not dying, Remus.' Peter's small eyes widened to full size. 'You're not, right?'

Remus held up a diplomatic hand, urging silence. Words put an end to his misery.

'Now, none of you is to go after Snape in any _form_ or _fashion_ until I give you the okay to do so. Your plots of revenge will not help right now. Give me your word you'll do _nothing_ to maim or otherwise promote the instantaneous death of Severus Snape.'

The trio slipped concerned glances at each other. Sirius shrugged, and he was the first to give his promise.

'I promise with a valiant heart,' he said, the corner of his mouth tilted in a hidden, quirky smile. 'And—' something exploded from his rear, like a motorcycle starting, 'a fart! Sorry, couldn't let that one pass. Today I do have a touch of—gas.'

'Well,' James nodded and laid a fist against his chest, 'I promise. No maiming or otherwise promoting the instantaneous death of Severus Snape.'

At that moment, an unsuspecting First Year walked in.

'OUT! OUT! OUT!' James stalked near the boy with every wail. The boy tripped over his own urgency. 'YOU'D BETTER RUN!' James returned to his spot. 'Sorry. Peter, you've yet to make your pledge.'

'Of course I promise.' He slugged James on the arm. James slapped him back. Peter rubbed the sore spot with his underused dramatic emphasis. 'Remus, come on, what'd he do?'

Remus's head hung. The bathroom floor was grimy, tiled in blue, and coloured his own misfortune. 'He fused my trousers on.'

There was dead silence. Pattering footfalls from the distant corridor came and went. Brave James Potter inched a toe forwards.

'Come again?'

'What?' murmured Peter. He was already giving Remus's plain brown trousers a due glare. 'You're joking.'

'H'mm.' Sirius frowned, doubting the complexity of this problem. In front of Remus, he tugged at the legs of the trousers with both hands. They would not budge. He pulled at the hem and it lifted above the ankle, showing sloppy, thread-worn socks that didn't quite match. Sirius, ignoring all laws of friendship, reached beneath Remus's robes and found a belt buckle. He tugged, Remus arching his eyes, and tugged a final time.

'That doesn't look healthy,' James said. 'Sirius! Have you no sense of decency?'

'What?' Sirius backed off. 'I've seen you naked, James Potter.'

'Let us not speak of it,' uttered James in hurt undertones.

'Moony doesn't mind. Look, his hands are red from trying to undo his own belt.' Sirius demonstrated by holding up one of Remus's hands at the wrist. The irritated fingers flicked a brief wave.

'Belt won't budge,' surmised Sirius. He analysed Moony like he might do to a fine painting, angling his head this way and that, moving in a half-circle as though different light directions would provide new perspectives. 'I'm at a loss. Why'd you make us promise we wouldn't hurt the greasy little bastard, Moony?'

Remus stuttered over his excuse. Sirius, James, and Peter waited. 'Men of magic, might and mien do not require violence to augment their talents.'

'All right, fair enough,' James said. 'It doesn't look like we have the time to discuss this further. We've got class now. This will have to be talked about later.'

'Easy for you to say,' Peter said. 'You don't have to use the toilet!'

James tried to speak to Remus clearly, in the voice of authority he'd learned the first week of friendship with Sirius. 'Moony, you're just going to have to hold it in.'

'Or run to Madam Pomfrey,' suggested Peter. 'She helped Sirius with his doggerel issues. She may be able to do something for you.'

'No,' Remus slipped a commanding hand through the air, 'absolutely not.'

Peter frowned. He thought his idea proportionate to the situation. 'She never asks too many questions. She knows the sort of trouble we get in, thanks to you, Remus.' He felt glares and cleared his throat. 'I just mean that you get scratched an awful lot and—'

'You don't have to explain,' Remus bobbed his head, 'I knew what you meant. But James is right, and I should get on with the day. It's possible Snape's spell will wear off in time.'

Sirius shoved a stack of books into Remus's chest. The unsuspected manoeuvre about bowled Remus over. 'Let's hope it does. But we'll have more time to find a solution _after_ class. We can't be late for Transfiguration again. McGonagall will give birth to a litter of snakes if we are.'

Peter was the last from the bathroom, contemplating Sirius's suggestion of a saurian nativity. 'If she does, I'm keeping one! I've _always_ wanted a snake!'


	2. Afternoon

**(Afternoon)**

Transfiguration was a blear of magpies turning into gramophones. All four were glad, perhaps none more than Remus, that Professor McGonagall talked so much, with such alacrity and subtle animosity, that their minds were forced into the present exercises, lured away from unfortunate incidents. Magpies flew overhead, gramophones played ragtime jazz; there were ample bird droppings to mind, and your own voice to hear over the ear-aching cacophony. James (already scrubbing a bird dropping from his hair with the tip of his wand), Remus (tapping his feet to the jazz), Peter (changing the gramophone colours), and Sirius (hitting the magpies overhead with an engorgement charm) could not have spoken of Remus's predicament even if the chance had presented itself. At class's end, the magpies were forced into their secluded aviary with a swoop of McGonagall's long, knurled wand, and with another swoosh seven gramophones fell still.

'How she manages to look so dignified in the face of such torment I shall never know,' James observed as they gathered effects.

'Perhaps that's because I know what I'm doing, Potter.'

Startled by her sudden appearance at the end of their table, James leaped behind Peter.

'She's spying on us again, Peter.'

Peter blinked at McGonagall. He was sure the stoic, wizened eyes and steel mouth were contemplating reprimands—and detentions.

However, she surveyed the four of them evenly, expressionless. Finally, she held Sirius's gaze. 'I wondered if perhaps there'd been a recent death in the family.'

'Professor?' Sirius grabbed his Transfiguration book and shoved his wand in the pocket inside his robes. 'It's not like you to be so vague. Where's the magniloquent McGonagall I've come to know and love and respect, and, dare I say it in such a presence, fear? Perhaps she died in a plague.' He heard the rhyme before recognising it. As a result, he winced and hoped no one would laugh. The presence of McGonagall had a sobering effect.

'The four of you completed your work with astounding speed today. You paid attention. I never had to stop my teaching once to ask one of you to be quiet.'

Peter piped up. He was the only one believable as a sycophant. 'The lesson today was really interesting. We were just paying close attention to it because we liked it. Your ability to demonstrate proper wand techniques is unparalleled, Professor. I feel I've learned a lot today.'

The praise brightened McGonagall's features. 'I'm glad you enjoyed it, Mr Pettigrew.' Nevertheless, her curiosity surveyed them a final time. 'I will not flatter myself that this is a permanent improvement to your personalities, gentlemen. Good day.' Dark green and burnt orange robes rustled away.

The four of them collectively sighed. James rubbed his face.

'Let's get out of here before she really suspects something. I'm starving, anyway.'

The end of double Transfiguration marked the last time they were, all four of them, in a class together that day. After lunch, Peter went to Muggle Studies, James and Sirius to Ancient Runes, and Remus to Arithmancy.

In the Great Hall, piling various orts upon their plates, Sirius voiced concern over the separation.

'You should skive off Arithmancy, Moony,' he suggested, mouth full of a sandwich bite.

James overheard. 'He'll do no such thing! Remus is going to his class.'

'Why?' Sirius shoved crisps in the empty corner of his cheek. 'I can skive off Ancient Runes. Didn't do the homework anyway.'

'No, Sirius, James has a point,' Remus said. 'If I miss Arithmancy, Snape will know. He's in my class. I don't want to give him the pleasure. I go or spite my face.'

'You go to spite your bladder,' said Sirius.

'It is going to have blisters, Remus,' grumbled Peter.

Remus shifted as Sirius lunged to his feet, spraying Remus with crisp crumbs and a lettuce leaf in the process. James, too, rose. Peter choked on a sip of apple juice.

With his hands in the baggy sleeves of his robes, Snape slithered next to them. A face so pale his veins nearly showed, the sunlight of the enchanted ceiling reflected off him and made him hard to look at. He deigned to glance at each one of them, Peter, Remus, Sirius, and—harbouring an aggressive touch of loathing—James Potter.

'Enjoying the day, are we?'

James snarled. 'No Slytherins are permitted at this table. SHOVE OFF!'

Snape, as usual, took the strain in Potter's voice without a blink. 'I was merely enquiring about the welfare of you four. Your manners could use some improving, Potter, along with your grades.'

Before Sirius, nearest to Snape, could stop him, Snape grabbed an empty glass and a jug of water. A fount poured into the cup.

'Thirsty, Remus?' taunted Snape. 'I'm sure you must be. The Potions dungeon is so dry this time of year.'

Sirius swiped the cup away. It cracked on the floor, and some caught the hems of a Hufflepuff girl's robes. Sirius recognised her, Miriam Franks, the meanest Hufflepuff that ever was. Franks found the culprit easily. 'Hey! Watch it, Black!'

But some water had soiled Snape. In retaliation, in grandiose manner, Snape calmly poured the entire contents of the jug right over Sirius's head. The cold water brought Sirius a quick chill. His shoulders went to his ears. He didn't have time to react, but Pettigrew did. He grabbed the first plate of substance within reach. It landed against Snape's cheek and slithered downward, a trail of macaroni salad left behind. Another nearby Gryffindor pelted Peter with a tomato slice. The Hufflepuff girl threw her sandwich at Sirius, but he ducked and it hit James. James whacked the girl with a biscuit. Soon, the whole Great Hall was nothing but tossed salad, fruit, bread, and brightly coloured condiments flying willy-nilly. Sirius had foresight enough to grab Remus and hide with him under the table.

'The last thing you need with your delicate condition, Remus, is detention. Lie low.'

Sirius popped into the fray, and was immediately pelted with a daub of jam square on his chest. He poked his finger in it, approved of the strawberry flavour, and then cleaned it up with a wave of his wand. By then, showers of food were spelled from criminal to victim. Protection shields saved a lucky few, while it was the first and second years left exposed. The ream of victuals went on for three minutes before a herd of professors entered. At the helm rose Dumbledore. His pale blue eyes observed Sirius, James, Peter, and Severus. They could not deny, with so many eyewitnesses, that they had instigated the battle. Miriam Franks was the first to point a finger at Snape and Black.

Dumbledore, too amused to speak, handed the incident over to the deputy headmistress. She surveyed them critically, and noticed Remus cowering beneath the table.

'Well,' her nostrils flared, 'that settles it. Ten points from Gryffindor. Ten points from Slytherin. And detention. All of you. Tonight. Seven. My office.'

Sirius didn't mind serving a punishment. One prickle remained. He tapped McGonagall on the shoulder as she stepped away.

'What is it _now_, Mr Black?'

Sirius hesitated. It wasn't like him. He recovered sanity. 'Not Remus, Professor, please excuse him from detention at least.' That wouldn't _really_ count as a rhyme, would it? Remus, least. Well, not quite. 'Honestly, he did nothing wrong. He hid under the table all along.'

Peter, so help him, _did_ snicker. He recovered it quickly with one of his masterful fake sneezes. A feat conquered and added to his repertoire years ago. 'Excuse me,' he murmured, sure that McGonagall had noticed something conspicuous about his sneeze. He inhaled through his hissing nose and rubbed a forefinger under it at the same time.

Professor McGonagall ignored him. His effort of misdirection was abetted when Remus chose that moment to emerge from beneath the table. Remus tapped his head on the edge, muttered 'Ouch!', but was able to stand before Professor McGonagall, unashamed, and fairly clean compared to the other lunch participants.

'I don't mind serving detention, Professor,' Remus announced. 'I'm sure I could've done something to stop this mess from occurring in the first place, so I'm as guilty as anyone.'

'That's very diplomatic of you, Mr Lupin.' Minerva McGonagall constructed her decision. 'But I'm afraid you'll have to spend an hour tonight without your conspirators. You will not be following them to detention. Now misters Black and Snape, I would like you to clean up the first and second years inflicted by your projectiles. Understood?'

'Yes, Professor,' Snape and Black chorused. They tossed surreptitious, silent threats to each other.

'Potter, Pettigrew,' McGonagall watched them snap to attention, 'get this place in order. If the five of you do a sufficient job, I'll deduct thirty minutes from your detention.'

'Yes, Professor,' Potter and Pettigrew chorused. Sirius and Snape were both hanging their heads.

When she'd left to converse with Dumbledore, Remus had a moment to take in what'd happened. In short three minutes, food touched nearly everything within the Great Hall. It looked like a colourful explosion of unknown substances. And the smell—

Remus tried to help clear the table. He caught James's apologetic moue.

'Sorry, Moony.'

'Yeah, Moony,' Peter pouted, 'sorry.' Then Peter leaned in, confidence invited. 'You don't really have to use the toilet, do you? Oh, a rhyme to rival Sirius. Don't tell him. Are you doing okay?'

'So far,' Remus nodded. 'As long as I don't think about it.'

After cleaning up the dishevelled students, Sirius heard the last words and slapped Remus on the shoulder in camaraderie. 'I guess we should nix our traditional walk by the lake this evening, huh?'

'That might be a good idea,' James concurred. 'Water lapping probably won't help Remus at all, unless we can find the counter-spell before then.'

'Already asked Snape for it,' Sirius said. 'Wouldn't give it up. I even peppered him with romantic lines: I called him a louse factory. Didn't warm him up. Not sure why. Am I losing my sex appeal?'

James ran a hand through his hair, often a sign of apprehension or frustration, unless a girl he fancied was around. 'Even if we do get out of detention a half-hour early, I still have to go to Quidditch practice. And I still have to write that assignment for DADA. I'm afraid the rest of you will have to watch after Remus when I'm at practice.'

'Won't do,' Sirius said, 'we'll just come to practice with you.'

'Good idea. I wish Slytherins weren't around to make our lives so damn interesting. No offence.'

Sirius realised the line was directed at him. 'Bugger that, like I care. Slytherins are to stand as testimony as to why cousins should not be allowed to marry. And I end there, before another blasted rhyme comes on.' He knocked on the table, as though drawing the attention of the hard-working house elves. 'Come on you lot, hop to! There's a very large mess up here not going anywhere! (Dammit!) You can blame the Slytherins!'

They must've paid attention. In a blink, the filthy tables reset to a clean, sparkling surface. Sirius beamed.

'That's better. McGonagall will have to let us out early now.' He did his point-on McGonagall impression, '"Excellent work, Mr Black! A hundred points to Gryffindor!" And then there may be snogging. Cover your virgin ears, Peter.'

'What?' Peter lifted his head. 'I wasn't paying attention. James, I don't think I'll go to Quidditch practice with you tonight.'

Sirius bumped his shoulder secretly into Remus. The latter understood the movement. It wasn't like Peter to follow his own path.

'I-I want to go back to the library tonight,' Peter mumbled. 'We're still behind on our reading for this human transmutation business. I want to find something new and-and useful.'

James slumped to a seat. 'Fair enough, Peter. While you're there, can you find something about reversing Snape's spell on poor Remus?'

'Well—' Peter threw a concerned glance at Remus, 'of course. Remus, you must be terrified.'

'I'm not,' Remus shook his head. All he had to do was speak, and he would convince them. Mendacity never passed his lips, save in the presence of a teacher. 'Should I sound vaguely sentimental for a moment, allow me the indulgence. You are the best mates I could ever have, and you'll get me through this.'

Sirius beamed even brighter. He kissed Remus's temple with an echoing smooching sound. Remus tried to duck but was slow, unsuccessful. 'That's so sweet. Do I have your permission later to scissor you out of your trousers? I'm sure that'll work.'

'You can't, Sirius, as much as you'd want to,' James said. 'I'd already thought of that.'

'And what's the excuse?' begged Sirius, confused.

Even Peter knew. 'Those are Remus's only pair of trousers. Isn't that right?'

Remus nodded. 'Unfortunately. The other pair grew an extra leg in one of our first Transfiguration classes this term, and ran off into the Forbidden Forest. Remember?'

Peter snorted. 'That was hilarious.' Remus did not remember it so fondly. Peter's grin disappeared. 'At the time.'

'Oh hell,' Sirius cried, throwing up his hands. 'I'll get you another pair, Remus. Better fitting ones, not so baggy through the arse. And without that hole on the side seams that shows God and all the stimulating patterns of your pants.' He winked at Remus's mortified expression. 'It's only apparent if one looks hard enough. James pointed it out. He's got an eye for that stuff.' A wince. A palm to the forehead. 'Sorry. Look, Remus, we'll think of something.' With a quick thought, Sirius had his wand out and left the point on Remus's knee. '_Finite Incantatum_.'

Sirius's hand was stopped on the way to the vales inside Remus's robes. Remus tugged at the belt himself. He lifted his shoulders.

'Nothing.'

'Was worth a try. We'll figure something out. Are we the marauders or not? No stupid spell of Snape's is sure to suffocate our subversion! Dammit! Now I'm turning into alliteration's lapdog.'

'In the meantime, Remus,' James rose and led them in a departure of the Great Hall, 'don't go anywhere near the fountain in the garden—'

'Or in any of the bathrooms,' Peter's quick shrewdness added.

'Nowhere near water: pooled, stagnant, or falling,' said Sirius. 'And you'll be all—right. You'll be _all right_. (Cursed poetry!)'

'I'm really not that worried,' Remus claimed again. His shoulders lifted to exemplify serenity.

'Oh no, of course you're not. Brave lad like you wouldn't be,' crooned Sirius. 'We'll get it sorted out, even if we must resort to torturing Snivellus. Doing the world a favour, thus. Ah, false rhymes make me happy.'

They parted ways at the grand staircase. Remus waited there a moment longer, a disconcerting wave passing through him. Of all the things that could've happened to him, of all the spells Snape had to choose from, what was the appeal in fusing trousers to a body? Remus shook his head to himself, sighed, and headed to Arithmancy.


	3. Evening

**(Evening)**

Remus sat with his back against the ornately carved headboard of his four-poster. The curtains were drawn back, revealing the circular Gryffindor Tower dormitory, where he'd already spent four pleasing, memorable, exciting years. Scattered on the bedspread before him was his Arithmancy homework, the challenging lay of numbers that made Peter's eyes bulge in horror every time he was within glancing distance of the complicated science. The lamp on the bedside table beat out a steady yellowish glow. The iron-cast parlour stove radiated a gentle warmth. Rain pattered sonorously against the arched windows of leaded glass. The only other sound was quill nib scratching against parchment.

Peter had been hours in the library already. In Second Year, when this business of turning themselves into Animagi to make the school years better for Remus, really took off, it had enfolded them into crenels of enthusiasm. But, over the summer, fervour ebbed slightly. Returning to school in Third Year, Peter agreed to take the brunt of the research upon himself. Consequently, he spent at least two hours a weeknight at the library, if the time could be spared, as dividing it between accidentally sought detentions and other tomfoolery became a tricky ability. Sirius had said it was good for Peter, and Remus interpreted the line as 'it is good for Peter to get away from us for a while and do his own thing'. Peter still managed to do his homework, though he never achieved particularly high grades, he nonetheless tried. The determination and loyalty Remus had found in Peter had always been a vague fascination. To find it in the fierce competitors Potter and Black was not as fascinating. James and Sirius were interested in becoming Animagi for the sheer challenge of it, such advanced magic, and to sate a rebellious streak, since they were planning to achieve something highly illegal. Their secondary motive was, naturally, to care for Remus while he ailed beneath the silvery shackles of a full moon. Remus didn't blame them for preserving the challenging aspect of accomplishing great magic, human transformation; Remus was too thrilled at the idea that, for three nights a month, he would not have to be separated from the rest of the world, and that a small part of his immediate world wanted to spend those nights with him.

It had been Sirius's idea, of course. Sirius, who could hardly stand to be separated from any of them for a span of ten minutes, since their first night hunkered in the dorm room, speaking in low, quivering voices about their lives before, and leading to, Hogwarts. And Sirius who'd stared long and hard at Remus those days just before, those days just following, a full moon. Sirius who'd spoken so often with James in hidden, shadowy corners of the common room, while Peter distracted Remus, to figure out what ailed their new friend. Sirius, too, who blurted it out at the moment Remus had least expected it, and stared, ogled, glared at Remus as though he, Sirius Black, of a pureblood family, had never been exposed to such a curiosity as Remus J Lupin.

Hidden beneath a layer of miscellaneous items in Sirius's trunk were all the parchment scraps Peter had yet scribed. Some were on failed essay attempts, reminders and remarks, little flat-lettered scholia in margins and headers. Remus remembered a few: 'read registered list', 'find long term mental damages of', 'Moony, fleas?', 'determination equals inspiration'.

Peter had been hard at work while the rest of them lazed and idled. Not once had Peter come to them asking for a congratulations on his achievements, for a pat on the back, for any sort of accolade. If Peter was at the library on a Saturday afternoon, and James and Sirius went to Hogsmeade, they at least remembered to bring back a satchel of Fudge Flies for Peter. And, as far as Remus could recall, none of them had had the gall to make fun of Peter's appreciation for the 'Unusual Tastes' comfit. Peter had a long list of peculiar 'trick spells' he could play on any one of his friends, a victim unsuspecting. He had mastered _Waddiwasi_ not long after Sirius had taught it to him. He used the trick better than any of them, the best, most accurate shot, the highest speed, much to the dismay of Peeves the Poltergeist. Most magic, however, evaded Peter. It did not come easily to him as it had to the others. Remus, whose bed was closest to Peter's, had often heard Peter whispering incompletely in his sleep the phrase that he'd seen written in the marginal notes, 'determination equals inspiration.' This was Peter's mantra.

With a careworn look, Remus examined Peter's bedside table. A framed photograph of his mother, a round face with deep-set eyes and pearls at her throat, was the only personal item. He had a small, decorative cream pitcher filled with a supply of sugar quills and flavoured stick candy. Remus knew the only item in the drawer was a Muggle fantasy novel, _The Hobbit_, a favourite of Peter's, reread annually without fail. He'd been too busy with study, and extra responsibilities, to begin the book again. The only time he'd had a chance for reading last year was over the Christmas holidays. But they'd spent that at the Potters' house. . .

Remus set aside quill and ink, rolled the parchment, and stretched his aching legs beneath him. He'd promised himself that as soon as Arithmancy was done, he'd venture to the library and help Peter. Professor McGonagall made good on her word to let James and Sirius out of detention early, as Remus thought she might, as she, head of Gryffindor House, was keen on James attending the first Quidditch practice of the year. Sirius, on a brief stop in the dorm room while James picked up his broom, had asked Remus to the training session, but the offer was declined. The wind blew in clouds and rustled autumn's leaves, and the last thing Remus wanted to do was watch James fly round the pitch in the raw northern gales.

No matter how often James Potter smoothed the covers of his bed, it was, much like his uncontrollable hair, always rumpled. Even now, as Remus noticed, there were rucks and tucks were there hadn't been before. A shirt sleeve was hanging out of a trunk too full to close. Pocket litter dappled the table, including a comb, a note passed two days ago in DADA, a bundle of bluish lint, and a Chocolate Frog wrapper.

Sirius's area was messiest of all. If Hogwarts employed no house elves, Sirius's bed would never get made. His clean socks and uniform accessories would never be put away. Remus, after hearing tales about Sirius's life in Grimmauld Place, understood the almost involuntary reaction to break from stuffiness, haughtiness, and purity. Sirius had always said that the irony of going to a boarding school to extol youthful liberties gave him laughing fits, but that is what Hogwarts meant to him: freedom. At Hogwarts, Sirius was hindered by nothing, not even, at times, his own intrinsic qualities. He was mutable, changeable; sometimes laughing, sometimes brooding, but always passionate, loyal, trustworthy. And no sweet tooth. Unlike the rest of them, Sirius had no candy stashed away for sudden midnight parties. He rarely took sweets of any kind, but had the occasional hankering for Ice Mice or Pepper Imps, but confections tended to interest him very little. Sirius had other food vices. He put olives on everything, practically, and preferred, above every other snack nicked from impromptu kitchen raids, a peanut butter sandwich on wheat bread stuffed with green olives. The first time he'd seen Sirius eat this concoction, Remus questioned what monstrosities he had been fed at home. Sirius had mumbled something about their family house elf not being much of a chef and left explanation there, full stop. Sirius's tastes had grown more and more aberrant over the years. He tried nearly everything once, and Remus often shook his head and said that Sirius did a fine dance on the line between valour and insanity.

The dormitory door opened as Remus was about to revive himself off the bed. The door closed with a soft snap. In walked Sirius, dripping wet, and beginning to leave a muddy puddle on the floor. None the worse for the sorry weather, he was bright and animated.

'The charming weather of Scotland in October is beginning,' he remarked. At the stove, he pulled his damp clothes off, piece by piece, and laid them on the rails around the pot-bellied, matronly mammoth. 'You should've come, Remus! If just to see James have a near-fatal accident when a bit of wind came from nowhere! About blasted him off the broom! Ah, it was a good time. Any luck with the trousers?'

Remus shook his head. Sirius began unbuckling his own trousers. He was wet to the skin, and shivering cold.

'Remind me, did we already try _Finite Incantatum_?' Sirius asked in a hurt voice.

'Twice.'

Sirius's face distorted in a snarl. He lunged through his trunk for clean, warm clothes. 'I'm going to break Snape's face in, I mean it! To hell with your forgiving, diplomatic platitudes about not going after him!'

Remus had no response to this. Sirius wouldn't really go after Snape. For one thing, it would ruin all the careful plotting he and James had been working on since the start of term.

'Where's James?'

'The hospital wing,' Sirius said, casual. He waved a hand and zipped up a pair of beloved jeans. 'He had some pretty nasty facial scratches. Looked like he'd been in a row with you.'

'Should I be concerned?'

'No, that's too much effort. When James was done with practice, we snuck in back of Hagrid's and tried to run off with one of his pumpkins. We devised a plan involving a pumpkin, Peeves, and Filch. Alas, it was not meant to be. Hagrid nearly caught us. We had to do a brisk frolic through part of the Forbidden Forest to escape him. I guess some trees felt like we were trespassing.' He held up his right arm to show of a thin scarlet line where a vindictive branch had injured him. Running through his mind briefly were lyrics about blood and the smell of the earth in a cold rain. He hit the rim of his bed and fell back. The words scattered. Wind howled at the black windows.

'Where's Pete? The library again?'

'I thought I might go and help him.'

'Really?' There was a note of insinuation in Sirius's inflection. 'I thought we might break down the Slytherin common room door and demand Snape's life as forfeit.'

'Such gallantry won't help.'

'You're very merciful, Remus. Give up this immoral life as a warlock and take to the church. By now, even pride should have faltered, and you would admit a human need to use the toilet.' Sirius angled just in time to see a sardonic smile. He glanced away before invisible, creeping fingers prodded lustful musings. 'You must have a bladder the size of Potter's ego.' The meaningless joke was rewarded by a dulcet chuckle. 'Why don't you just let me cut them off? Or go to Madam Pomfrey?'

'Snape will come around,' Remus finally said. 'He'll realise how inhumane it is and come around.'

'Remus, you're the pure definition of a lunatic. This is Snape we're talking about. He has no concept of _inhumane_.'

Remus reassured Sirius with a fulsome grin. 'He'll come around.'

'Yeah, he will, when I pop his bloody head off like a gory daisy.'

Agitated by this dismissive attitude, Sirius leapt from the bed and stood over Remus. Fathomless grey eyes, the hue of twilight rain, refused to look away. Remus went watery, as he had not yet found the integrity to counteract Sirius's mesmerising stares. It was like trying to read an ancient language through the gossamer tendrils of a webbed veil. But Remus had long ago conquered the fine art of refusing to give a spoiled child what he most wanted. He held his breath and glanced away. Sirius, too, relaxed when the moment faded. Such moments had come and gone too often between them anymore. Sirius had lost count of the number of rejections he'd faced. Twenty? Thirty? Two thousand was just as likely.

He scooted Remus's legs over, sat on the bed, then fixed an ankle over a knee. Docilely, Sirius untied Remus's weary loafers, removed darned socks, for each foot. The task finished, he tugged playfully at the hems of each leg. Realising Remus was not willing to play along, Sirius tightened his fists. A flash of hatred sped across his features.

'I'm going to _kill_ Severus Snape. And when I've done that, I'll bring him back to life and _kill him again_.'

Remus rolled off the bed, gracefully managing not to hit Sirius in the head. 'You should probably do your DADA essay first. Confucius say "Homework before murder."' Passing by Sirius's bed, he lifted a Defence Against the Dark Arts book, flipped round, and tossed it to Sirius. 'I'm going to the common room for a while. Do your homework, Sirius.'

'May I do my homework in the common room with you?' Sirius quickly asked, as if permission to visit the common room were actually required. 'Or have I been banished to the tower for all eternity, my crime merely a desire to defend your honour?'

Remus waited, calculated, examined. Finally, he bobbed his head in the direction of the staircase. Spoiled though he was, conceited, arrogant, even malicious at times, Sirius was still his friend. 'Come on. But if Peter's not back by the time the library closes, I'm going to look for him. I don't want him doing anything foolish.'

'Peter? Our Peter, stolid say you? Why, Remus, I never knew!'

The horrible weather, combined with an exhausting Quidditch practice, meant that very few students were available for socialising. Lily Evans was in one corner, discussing herbs and healing with a pretty sixth year student. Lily and some of her talented friends wrote a newsletter about the latest findings in herbal poultices and potions. Sirius had read a couple, until Lily wouldn't let him anymore, after he marked the issues up by pointing out grammar errors and making inappropriate suggestions for next month's topics. The problem was that Sirius had meant to help, but when she turned on him he laughed it off and said he was glad to be rid of the obligation.

Lily smiled at Remus but dipped her head when Sirius waved. He pretended to itch a spot in his hair after being snubbed. The two chairs in front of the glowing embers of the giant, open-sided fireplace were already occupied. Sirius hardly took this to mean he couldn't sit there.

'Isn't it past your bed time?' he said to a small second year curled in the seat. Even to Remus, the boy looked sleepy. His heavy lids were having a hard time staying up. The sight of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin looming over him failed to sway the youth's apprehension. But he vacated his seat with a swift 'good night' that was full of the same bitter attitude Remus recalled from a twelve-year-old Sirius three years before.

Wickedly grinning, as though stealing chairs from second years was a commendable act, Sirius fanned his hands behind his head, his feet in front of him, and exhaled with emphasis. He jerked when a foot hit his shin.

'Do your homework,' Remus reminded. 'I'll help you, if a concession to your laziness is any motivation whatsoever.'

With an incoherent grumble, Sirius pulled over a table, refusing to move to one, and began laying out books and parchment, ink and quills. For the first few minutes, he had more fun tickling Remus's brow with the tip of his quill than actually working. He was distracted when poetry danced across his brain, some of the stanzas so complete and compelling that he itched to scribble them down. But he refused to give in to the trickery. The lines pertaining to Remus were particularly useless. To Sirius, Remus was ineluctable, wordless, formless, incapable of being expressed. Remus was like life: meant to be experienced. A deep golden tendril, the colour of the earth at sunset, fell over Remus's softly angled forehead with such amazing gentility that Sirius had to notice it. Remus was checking Sirius's essay for obvious mistakes, and failed to perceive the distended inspection from his outspoken admirer.

Sirius realised, with a dull pang, that it had been four years since his initial enchantment with Remus Lupin. It began quietly, one rainy night in the common room, much like that one. Remus had just returned from one of his three-day disappearing acts, horribly worn and gaunt, robes and uniform hanging off his decrement frame. His lithe shape had curled into a great armchair in the corner of the room, out of the way, and he seemed alone, save for a classmate's cat that had been dozing on the tumulus of his hip for the last hour. Sirius decided that, beneath all of Remus's trauma, there lurked a mesmerising spirit, a beautiful yet evasive falling star that he somehow spent continuous years chasing.

From that night, it rolled on and on, through seasons and years, growing ever more enormous and powerful. Used to getting what he wanted, or fighting for it when it didn't float to him simply, he calmly sent out feelers to comprehend Remus's emotions. To Sirius's dull surprise, Remus seemed to limit his sentiments. He cared fiercely for his friends, was loyal to them, and had a great pride for Hogwarts and Gryffindor in particular. But there was scarce little else to identify Remus Lupin from the mundane horde. By the end of last year, Sirius had drawn in his feelers, defeated, demoralised, confused. For the first time in his life, he was denied what he wanted. At the beginning of Fifth Year, Sirius was displeased to learn that Remus had known all along of these feelings and yet continued to circumvent them.

Lately . . . Lately . . . There were those uncanny moments. Alone, unbothered, close moments. They kept Sirius awake at nights, and daydreaming in the middle of class.

And earlier, Remus hadn't pulled away when Sirius had tried to help. Wasn't that explained plainly? Remus knew what was being done, and to have such a tempestuous reaction to Sirius's closeness in front of James and Peter would've clearly announced something was wrong in their friendship. As far as Sirius could tell, nothing was wrong in their friendship. Nothing was wrong with Remus. Sirius was the one to blame. He blamed himself for rare moments of discomfort, but he could not be ashamed of his feelings for Remus. Sirius was proud to love Remus, extremely proud, and, as with all things he took pride in, Sirius didn't cover it up in cowardice. Love moved him in strange ways. . .

His open, loopy handwriting blurred as sudden tears pounded against his eyes. He blinked and examined Remus to see if the affliction had been noticed. It had not. Remus tilted the parchment and pointed to the eighth paragraph, the very last one, and, using clever periphrasis, indicated that a certain date was inaccurate.

'What's wrong?' Remus asked rather suddenly, while Sirius scribbled.

'I'm tired all the sudden,' groused Sirius. 'I think I'm getting old.'

Remus huffed, a characteristic sound Sirius knew to be an incomplete snicker.

The portrait hole opened and closed. Remus spun to it, and Sirius knew he'd secretly hoped it'd be James and Peter, or Snape himself, to bring good news of the enemy's surrender, white flag and all.

It was James, but an unsmiling James covered in tell-tale thin bandages that marked a deep scratch remedy favoured by Madam Pomfrey. The billowy movements of his loose robes showed that he had shoved large quantities of food stuffs in his pockets. He reached the table with a flamboyant Potter greeting and divvied the booty.

'Went to the kitchens. The elves love it when I'm injured.' He held a bottle of butterbeer to his cheek then set it down. 'Still warm. Bless them. Really, I mean it, they make these awful nights of wind and rain bearable to the extreme. Think Evans will want one? Better ask.'

Remus immediately set the jar of green olives in front of Sirius. For himself, he claimed a Cauldron Cake but skipped pumpkin fizz. James returned, still carrying the proffered butterbeer. It was not news that Lily had refused the drink. James opened it while glancing around the common room, noticing its emptiness. Sirius noticed, too, that it was emptier than twenty minutes ago. The only new arrival, aside from James, was the friendly silver cat, Feliciano, now asleep near the fireplace hearth. The same cat that had always taken a liking to Remus, yet belonged to a studious fourth year named Clara Harp.

'Where's Pete?' Potter rolled over a chair and vaguely noted Sirius's homework.

'Not back yet.' Remus looked at the great clock on the inside wall. Its hands were nearly at nine and twelve. 'Library's already closed. Shouldn't he be back by now?'

'You worry too much,' Sirius said, bent over the parchment for a final finishing line. The smell of damp ink hung heavy in his nose. 'Peter is capable of getting from the library to the common room on his own, although, please realise this is conjecture: we have never actually _tested_ the theory.'

'Peter's gone to the library loads more times than you or I have,' Remus remarked, eager to bring justice between his friends, and give Peter credit where it was sorely overdue. 'He'll come back on his own, as he has for the last obscene amount of years.'

'So long as Snape doesn't interfere,' James added nonchalantly. He really didn't believe it was a possibility. Snape was just as likely to be doing his homework in the Slytherin common room at that very moment. 'Sirius, when do you suppose we ought to go over that stuff Peter's been working on?'

'Whenever,' Sirius said, still poring over the essay, checking it a final time for errors. 'There is loads of it to look over.' Finally, he raced his eyes to Moony, then to James. 'It's not going to be easy. Particularly for Peter, it won't be easy. He can do all the research he wants, but when it comes to the magic—' The thoughts gently elided. He put his head back down.

Grim bongs announced the hour. Just then, Nearly Headless Nick floated into the common room, hoary and plumose.

'Good evening, devilish bantlings,' Nick greeted with a flick of fingers at his brow.

'Hey, Nick,' they all grumbled simultaneously, and, to their hope, dismissively. The Gryffindor ghost lingered.

'I come bearing a message for you, actually.' Now he caught the trio's attention. The eyes popped to him. 'From your chum Peter. He wishes me to convey that you may expect his arrival fairly soon, but later than normal. It seems that Professor Binns provided the young chap with a permission slip to skim through the Restricted Section of the library, and, in effect, was also granted permission to stay a trifle longer beyond library hours. Would you wish me to transmit a response?'

'No,' Sirius said immediately. Remus smacked him on the arm. 'What? I have nothing to say. Peter took this responsibility upon himself, and I still say it's good for him. Especially if we don't stick our snouts in.'

'Exactly,' James agreed. He faced Nick, the apparition slightly hazy, a sign that James needed to clean his glasses. 'Thank you, Sir Nicholas. After conferencing briefly with my fellows, we conclude that our chum Peter will conclude this business on his own.'

'As you wish, Mr Potter. But,' Nick raised a hand, always desirous of getting out the last words in sallies with James Potter, 'the next time your chum requires my services, I shall have to charge him a small delivery fee.'

James approved of this. He bobbed his head. 'Good man, Nicholas.'

Sir Nicholas waved and gave his goodnights, feigning a yawn, in the process tipping his head to expose the source of his moniker.

Sirius dropped his quill, absolutely done with homework for the night, and leaned into the chair.

'Bravo to Peter,' he commented, and popped another olive. 'Binns sticks his neck out for no one. Even less comforting because no one can sever it off, him being dead and all. Maybe if he wasn't, and someone managed to chop his head off, it'd be a botched job, like Nick's.'

James, bored, stacked Sirius's spare quills atop one another. 'Peter always was amazingly talented at sucking up to people. Yet nobody likes him. Why is that? McGonagall's saying spiteful words to him every chance she gets. Binns has no idea he exists. Slughorn can't remember his name. Kettleburn won't even let him near flobberworms. And even Dumbledore sometimes— Well, you know the rest, and it doesn't improve from there.'

Silence came for a minute. Remus heard the ticking of the clock, the swinging of the pendulum. Lily and her friend walked by on their way to the girls' dormitories. James watched her go but refrained from commentary. Remus read the label on the pumpkin fizz, then clanked the bottle to the tabletop.

'If he's not back by nine-thirty, I'm going after him.'

'You do that. I'm going to bed,' Sirius said at the tail end of Remus's words. 'Waste not your valour on unwanted specimens, Remus.' He looped an elbow at Remus's neck and squeezed, more with affection than intent to roughhouse.

Remus dived out of the hold. 'Believe me, Sirius, I won't waste my valour on anyone.' Aside from a faint intake of breath, Remus calculated no other reaction from Sirius. Remus opened his mouth to apologise, what he'd said had been cruel, but James spoke instead. Sirius slipped off undetected.

'I'm off, too, I suppose.' James dumped a handful of litter in the rubbish bin. 'Remus, you coming up?'

'Later. I want to wait for Peter.'

'Right,' James nodded but wasn't sure he believed Remus. 'He'll be fine, Moony. Oh, are your trousers still, you know, stuck and the like?'

'As far as I know, yes.'

'Horrible.' James laid a sympathetic hand on Remus's shoulder. 'I'm sorry, mate. Anything I can do?'

'If Peter hasn't learned the counter-spell by the time he returns, you have my permission to rend them off me thread by thread.'

'Will do,' he patted the shoulder again, more enthusiastically, 'and I'll lend you a pair of mine, right? It'll work out.'

'I think it will,' Remus flashed a grin that appeared less false than it felt. 'And if I don't end up with a severe bladder infection from the whole mess, I'll consider myself very lucky. I'll be up in a bit.'

When James had gone, Remus waited. Eventually, Feliciano, the demure cat, came from the hearth to Remus's lap, and provided silent, sympathetic company.


	4. Night

**(Night)**

Peter lost track of time after Sir Nicholas glissaded into the ceiling to deliver the message. He knew his time of study and note-taking had run out when Madam Pince stood over his empty table, heaped with large, leather-bound tomes. While she said not a word, her meaning was lavishly clear. Peter gathered all parchment rolls to him, shoved them in his bag, then massaged his hand in a light jog out the door.

One more stop, and then he could go back to the tower. And, finally, to bed! He _longed_ for bed. . .

In the first five minutes at the library, meaning to do his homework and perhaps undertake some general study, Peter soon discovered that he'd misplaced his Potions book. The disrupted routine of the day meant it had most likely been left behind in the Potions room. He meant to retrieve it sooner, but sooner gave way to later when he stumbled upon interesting articles about human transfiguration. These horrifying pieces, combined with the permission slip required to access the Restricted Section, which Peter had required with his unctuous, sanctimonious manner towards teachers, and a cunning, secretive wit of his own, caused hours of endless distraction. Genuine homework was forgotten in the sundries of unlicensed knowledge. He now knew things that ordinary Hogwarts students didn't know. Alluring, captivating spells and potions by the hundreds, by the thousands. It gave him the one thing he was constantly on the lookout for: a sense of importance.

Diving back into reality, away from spells that promised to make him handsome, rich, popular, Peter returned to his sense of obligation. His friends needed him. They were relying on him to report this collection of invaluable information. It would be added to the tally. Someday soon, when they could turn themselves into animals at will, and protect Remus from himself, the struggle would be worth it. The hours spent in the library, away from his cronies, would be vindicated. He envied them every hour of their fraternal deviation that he missed.

Peter flew around the corner to enter the long, dark tunnel that opened at the Potions classroom. He slowed his steps. The lights burned low here. Shadows were all around. Corners were blurry triangles of impenetrable blackness. He blinked, swerved, and measured whether or not Slughorn was still in his office. The door was shut. No rim of light appeared at its edges. Slughorn was in his chambers, likely indulging his sweet tooth with sugared fruits and reading the latest edition of _Potion Makers Today_.

Peter sighed. If the room to Potions was closed and locked, he'd have to wait until lunch hour tomorrow to fetch the book. The schedule of a fifth year was too cramped to allow a lazy stroll into the dungeons to retrieve a misplaced article.

He jangled the handle. The hasp loosened and allowed him entrance. He pushed the door to test its creaks. Very few. He muffled the noise with a quick flick of his wand, already to the point where he no longer had to say the word to make the incantation work. In Charms, he now surpassed several of his classmates in non-verbal spells, yet remained beneath them in so many basic abilities…

The oversized windows along the south-western wall were not shuttered, and Peter was grateful for this small favour. The moon was at its halfway point, waxing, but her gorgeous beauty remained hidden behind thinning storm clouds. Peter preferred moving in the dark. Sometimes he felt he saw better that way.

His Potions book was sitting on the corner of the supply table in front of the blackboard. All he had to do was walk twenty-one shallow steps, grab it, and depart. Silently, without leaving a sign of his presence. In the wide, cavernous room, he willed himself to think he was small, unseen, and the room seemed to grow as he seemed to shrink into the darkness.

Seven steps down, it looked as though he'd be successful. Then, with a flash of light, Peter gasped, flipped around, and faced an enemy.

'Well, well, well,' Snape said in a lazy voice that made no attempt at intimidation, 'if it isn't James Potter's little cotton ball tail.'

This remark was followed by a childlike giggle, but incriminating the possessor. '_Lumos!_ Ah, it _is_ the tail! Good evening, little tail! Have you lost your way home? You're in wild gardens now.'

Peter's eyes narrowed on Regulus Black, Sirius's troublesome, irksome, irritating haemorrhoid of a brother. In his third year at Slytherin House, he was already surrounding himself with bad company.

'This is convenient, since I don't see my brother at hand to protect you, little tail.' Regulus often spoke in a leisurely, unhurried manner, placing unimportance on everything. 'And where is Potter? I thought you never left their side. Are you all by yourself tonight? This is unprecedented. Isn't it, Snape?'

Snape tilted his head, the light at wand's tip shining in Peter's small, moist eyes. 'Why have you come, just out of simple curiosity? The Potions lab after hours is off limits to those whom Slughorn despises.'

'He doesn't even remember your name, Tail!' Regulus scorned.

'Come to pilfer the stash, have we?'

Peter allowed the silence to thicken. A scorching burn, a towering flame, blasted inside his stomach. His icy, cold blood suddenly boiled with the heat of lightning. He'd never felt such passion entwine such hatred. His wand began to shake, then his arm, and his viscera quivered with the crash of a thousand blades. In a flash, he knew what he had to do. For Remus, Sirius, James, he knew what he had to do.

Snape's shoulders crashed into the wall. Startled, his eyes flung open as wide as they would go, he glared down at this puny lump. He tried to move but Peter held him at the chest, pinning him to the spot. In Peter's face, Snape read his demise. Pettigrew's eyes, normally so beady and insignificant, were now doubled in size, bloodshot, and frighteningly wild.

When he knew Snape would not try to defend himself, Peter flicked his wand to Regulus, but kept his stare on Snape. 'Drop it, Black!'

'You don't have the guts, bunny tail!' Regulus insulted, wand at the ready. He hardly knew enough magic to stun Peter, and the idea of how much trouble he could get in with Slughorn, his head of House, or even with Dumbledore. 'I'd like to see you try!'

Peter reached out a leg and hooked Regulus's ankle. With a tug, Regulus crashed to the ground.

'_Expelliarmus!_'

Regulus's wand went flying. Peter let out a wide, fiendish grin.

'I never ask twice,' he stated, nearly the perfect figure of serenity.

But he swung back to Snape.

Severus flinched as the wand grew more and more intimate with his neck. 'I think we can talk about this, Pettigrew. Does your weak brain fathom how much trouble you're going to be in?'

'Oh don't try and con me, Snivellus! You're not going to tell anyone you saw me here, are you? Not really, because that would be telling, wouldn't it? Yes, yes, it would. And I would be forced, oh so forced, to tell that I saw you and Regulus here after hours. While we're making up fantastic stories about what we saw, there'd be no end to the trouble I could cause for you! Damage your reputation! Call you a thief! Tell them you were helping Regulus Black cheat! Tell him you were snogging him for all I bloody well care! Wouldn't Slughorn like that of one of his prized students? Wouldn't he? No, no, Snivellus, this stops NOW! My wand is at your throat and I have the advantage. No more of this, do you hear me? No more of it! You leave me and my friends alone!'

'But Potter is—'

'If James chooses to lower himself to your level of juvenile tricks and spells, that's his business. If you so much as retaliate when he does, and he will, I'll destroy you. There are more ways to hurt a man than simply killing him.'

Snape began to feel the loaded pressure against his lungs. Pettigrew's convexity of shape was against him, an inflexible wall at his back. He sucked in a breath through cracked lips. 'You're not capable of destruction, Pettigrew!'

Snape retreated as far back as he could go when Pettigrew's willow wand began emanating a searing heat and miniscule red sparks. A fiery crimson illumed the boy's features. He looked mad—positively mad.

Regulus groaned incoherently from the floor. Snape weighed his options. Finally, seeing no way out of this, he nodded. Peter had to be absolutely sure a vow had been made. He pushed Snape to the wall one last time. Snape, squealing then growling, shouted.

'Fine! Fine! I'll do it! I agree! You have my word!'

Reluctant, searching Snape for any sign of mistrust, of which he found many on the surface, the usual qualities of character, Peter found no mistrust loitering deep inside Snape. He, too, nodded.

'Then it's done.'

Snape repositioned his loosened Slytherin tie, unbuttoned another button at the collar, and cleared his throat. His trachea was sore, undoubtedly blessed externally by a contusion. 'Nice doing blackmail with you, Pettigrew.' Then he knelt over Regulus to check the boy's improving condition.

Peter stayed, the wand cool in his sweaty palm. What had he just done? What did it mean? He'd bested Severus Snape, tormentor of their class, the odious villain! What had possessed him? _What did it mean?_

'I'd better help,' Peter offered, tilting over Regulus.

Regulus laid a humiliating slap on Pettigrew's flabby cheek. 'You stay away from me, Pettigrew!' But his threat faded in a grimace and moan as Snape attempted to get him on his feet. He wobbled uncertainly as he tested the ankle Peter had used to down him. 'You're mental! I can't believe my brother associates with people who are _so bloody mental_!'

'And the Blacks,' Peter said, folding his arms across his chest and continuing the menacing expression, 'they're, what again? Oh, that's right, MENTAL!'

Regulus flailed his arms to goad Pettigrew into a wrestling match. Snape held the kid back against his will.

'Stop this! Stop!' Snape put a hand between Regulus and Peter. His face was again placid, formless in the shadows. He ignited the tip of his recovered wand and swished back his hair.

'Let's just get out of this place before Slughorn discovers we're here.' He said it to both Regulus and Pettigrew.

Peter dashed down to the supply table, recovered his book, and flew back up the stairs. Snape supported Regulus out the door. Peter shut it behind them, while Snape locked it. It had meant to be locked all along, and Peter's whelming sense of destiny continued. What had just occurred had been meant to happen.

For a brilliant flash of bravery, Peter held his wand up to Regulus and Snape. They froze.

'Tell me,' Peter started, snarling and irate, 'tell me how to reverse the spell you put on Remus.'

It was Snape's turn to snarl. 'Still trying to figure it out, are you? Well, I've had my fun.' He paused here when Regulus snickered, clearly in on the joke of the day. 'Plenty more where that spell came from, and I think—'

Peter prodded Snape's neck with the wand. Snape emitted a gurgling choke. Finally, he told, in plainest speech. Peter committed it quickly to memory, and this spell he would not forget. They said no words, parting stiffly, remaining enemies in their minds.

'Wait,' started Peter, and he jogged four paces to catch up Snape and Regulus. He pulled a sad bit of parchment from beneath his dusty robes. 'Take this.'

Snape lifted it, eyeballing it carefully. 'What is it?'

'A sign of truce. I won't need it any more. And, if I do, I know who has it.' He gave a series of cheerful nods and an outlandish grin to Regulus. 'I'll tell your brother I saw you at the library. He'd like to know you were studying. Never mind if that wasn't what you were doing.'

Regulus was too stunned for verbal retaliation. He winced, grumbled again, his ribs and ankle smarting, and was glad for Snape's superior height and strength to carry him into the Slytherin common room. Once there, Regulus, curious beyond measure, asked Snape what was on the parchment. The two of them fell to the couch in the vacant space while Snape unfolded the document. He read it, brow furrowed, and handed it to Regulus.

'This is useful,' Regulus commented without a stir of excitement. 'The whole thing's written in Professor Binns's hand, but the date is written in disappearing ink. No, wait, is it? No, it isn't. It's been enchanted. We can fill in a date for whenever and use it to access the Restricted Section. Wonder where the Tail got it?' Wisely, Regulus handed the document back to Snape, who took it, pocketed it, and said not a single word.


	5. Midnight

**(Midnight)**

Peter managed to flop like a pile of rags on his bed before Sirius and James noticed his late arrival. Someone lit a lamp, Sirius, and there was the susurrus of shuffling bed covers and feet against the floor.

'Peter,' James started, pushing on his glasses, 'what happened?'

'Where's Remus?' Sirius added. 'Did he explode in a yellow shower?'

On his back, Peter craned his head to Sirius, on his left. 'He's using the loo, I imagine.'

Sirius's brow bent in unasked questions. James read the situation carefully.

'You—you broke Snape's spell?'

'How'd you do it so well? Grr, sorry.'

Peter said nothing. He rolled over on his side, tossed covers over his head, and grabbed the pillow. 'I'm very tired. Goodnight.'

But he lay awake for a long while after this short conference, listening, waiting, replaying what had happened in the Potions room. On his way to the common room, he imagined his friends' reactions when he told them the story of what he'd done. Their rewards of praise would be overwhelming. To think that he had accomplished something the rest of them hadn't! He'd _defeated_ Snape single-handed!

As soon as he entered through the portrait hole, he found a sleepy Remus the only one still in the common room. He pointed his wand, mumbled a counter-curse, and the whole notion of praise dissolved. What had he done, really, that those three Gryffindors wouldn't do for him? Any of them could take on Snape, any of them! The only reason they hadn't was lack of interest. James and Sirius considered this rivalry with Severus Snape a game. To Remus, it was a psychological expression of masculine aggression, necessary during adolescence. Yet to Peter, Snape was the source of rage and self-hatred. Snape's reputation for making up his own spells, rumoured to be violent and horrendous, and his renowned interest in the Dark Arts, played with Peter's vision of the inaccessible villain. Peter had laughed with Sirius and James whenever a duel resulted in Snape's utter humiliation, because laughter was what his friends expected. Truth was, Snape's reflexive hexes were far more captivating than the boring curses James and Sirius came up with. And if Snape no longer fought back, and Sirius and James knew it had been Peter's doing that demolished this long-standing feud, what would they think of him?

_No, no, that won't do_, Peter mused, catching himself still awake after an hour had passed. No, it was better that roles stayed the same, that he not be accused of usurping the demagogue status of James and Peter. It was only if things stayed the same that he would stay the most comfortable. There were benefits to his position, to being the one nobody really notices.

Sirius and James tried to stay awake to hail Remus's triumphant return to the world where trousers came off, but it proved too difficult. Sirius heard James's breath turn even and deep, and Peter had gone immeasurably silent, a small little hump beneath the covers. Sirius blinked at the ceiling, listening to the rain and the air through his nose mix and make peaceful monody. Then, sick of it, he kicked himself from bed and trolled down the steps.

He heard voices and stopped, concealed around the last circular turn of the staircase. Waiting, he soon recognised Moony and Lily. The latter had evidently just arrived, while Remus had continued waiting for slumber long after Peter had dissolved the curse.

'What's wrong, Evans?' Remus observed her as she knotted a housecoat and rubbed an eye.

'Insomnia,' she sat by the hearth, 'what else? I've had it since I was a child.'

'That's not much of an excuse. You're a witch now, aren't you? You undoubtedly know a dozen spells and a hundred sleeping draughts.'

'Yes, but so many of them have curious side effects I'd rather not deal with. What are you doing up? You've been here ages.'

Remus's mouth turned upward at the corner. The content cat Feliciano stretched a paw. A log in the fire shifted in a spray of orange glitter. The clock swung away three seconds. Lily pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped long arms around her shins.

'Avoiding Sirius, are you?' she finally decided to ask.

Remus set back his head. 'You're very observant.'

'He doesn't make much of an effort to hide his like of you. A bit like James doesn't hide his like for me.'

'A bit like.'

'If you don't want to talk about it, Remus, I'd understand.'

'No . . . No, talk about it. I want to hear your thoughts. I want to hear someone else's thoughts. I'm so tired of my own.'

Lily sighed and prepared all the things she'd wanted to say to Remus on the subject. She felt liberated and relieved to speak the things held in for so long. 'Well, for starters, Sirius has been this way about you for years, and you don't seem to care. You should've seen the look on his face when the two of you were down here earlier, working on some assignment. He adores you, Remus.'

'Maybe he does.'

'You're everything in his world, really. James is his best friend, but you're the one he tells his heart to. That isn't likely to change, is it?'

'Lily, why won't you give James a chance?' Remus, already knowing the answer, waited intently for a response. She seemed to understand a connection between his question and their topic.

'Because I think he's arrogant. He doesn't obey his conscience, only his ego. He's too used to getting what he wants round here. It's been that way ever since we started school, since the first evening. I knew what kind of boy he'd be, just as soon as the Hat sorted him into Gryffindor.' Then Lily comprehended the comparison Remus had set into play. 'Oh, I see. A bit like Sirius.'

'A bit like,' repeated Remus. 'Everything with Sirius is doomed to live but briefly. Every thought he has, every feeling, it doesn't last long with him, then he's on to the next thing. It's always the next thing with him.'

'And you don't want that to happen to you. How do you know it would?'

Remus huffed and arched his eyes, as if the answer was obvious. 'I'm not flamboyant, Evans. I'm methodical. In Sirius's eyes, doesn't that translate to "I'm boring"?'

'No,' Lily said rapidly, shaking her downy red head. 'No, that's just not possible. The three of them respect you, Remus, Sirius and Peter and James. You're their backbone. Without you, I'm sure they would've been expelled by now. You smile because you know it's true, they would've been. But I understand the part about not wanting to ruin your friendship with them, particularly Sirius.'

'He's not someone I'd like to cross. He _knows_ too much about me.' Remus toyed with the grimness of this statement by smiling slightly. He unwound from the chair, setting the sleepy cat back to the warm cushion, where it curled up again. He stood with Lily Evans before the fire, and wondered, with the faintest pricks of hope, what the future would bring.

'You're a very graceful creature, Lily,' he said, 'and I revere you all the more for not giving in to James. Unless you happen to like him, of course.'

A short-lived grin brought pink to her cheeks. 'I do like him, to be honest. He is smart, good-looking, funny, ridiculously brave. But I can't give in just yet. Not until he learns a thing or two on his own.'

'You could teach him,' said Remus. 'In your capable hands, James Potter would be malleable as clay.'

'And you could mellow Sirius,' she retorted, thoughtful. 'He's from an ancient line of pure-bloods, Remus,' but Remus had nodded at this, 'yet ever since he was put in Gryffindor, family ties have been snapping left and right. It's nothing against your character, Remus, but I must say that, in lieu of Sirius's troubles, his affection for you cannot be an easy thing. Doesn't it mean a little more that he's willing to love you anyway, in spite of the obstacles?'

She stopped when Remus cowed beneath the insights. Touching his shoulder, she squeezed, said her soft goodnight, and vanished up the staircase.

Remus said only a mumbled goodnight to the cat. He turned for the dormitory. Sirius stood there. A moment passed, Remus experiencing the epitome of embarrassment, hands and heart tingling. The sensation vanished, replaced, as usual, by pity. Remus, disinterested in forcing placations down Sirius's throat, merely waited. Sirius blinked consecutively. His eyes burned with tiredness and sorrow. The exchange of words between Lily and Remus thrashed about in his troubled mind, biting and clawing as they made their wretched rounds. The words that hurt the most were the words that were true. He was spoiled. His family had been sporting marvellous disaffection since the Sorting five years ago. They would disown him, possibly even try and kill him, for taking the love of his friends over the status of the Blacks. Terrors unspoken caused bleak, fearful threats should his family ever find out how he felt about Remus Lupin.

'She's right,' Sirius discovered his voice almost on accident, 'my family hates me. And it isn't painless. But it has its benefits. You, James, Peter, you're my family now.' Without certainty that Remus was listening, Sirius crossed his arms and tried putting crooked, unfinished phrases into coherent speech. 'It hurts a lot to become isolated from the familiar, and then willingly throwing oneself into the unfamiliar. I don't know what I'm doing. Just trying to make it up as I go along. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry if I did. It's just— Remus, it's not going to stop just because you want it to. That's not the way it happens. You're a part of me. You're in my breath. You're everywhere I go.' His pause was incongruent and strange. 'Please stop me from talking.' Sirius shut up for a second, watching Remus plaintively. Remus made no indication that he wanted Sirius to stop. Renewing his efforts, Sirius continued.

'I know I'm spoiled and used to getting what I want, and I would give back everything my family ever gave me if it meant I had finally suffered enough to be good and worthy in your eyes. But I can't _do_ that. You see? That's impossible, impossible. For now, you'll have to accept the fact that being near you makes me want to be a better person. Oh I know I'm not perfect. I know I don't have James's strength or Peter's diligence, or your ability to say exactly the right thing to someone who's hurting. But I'm _trying_. A long time ago, I knew I'd have to try and be someone worthy enough to be your friend.

'You're so untouchable that Snape has never put a jinx on you, hasn't even dared to, until today! And it was meant for me, we all know it! You just got in the way. And I wanted to kill Snape for it. He has no right to put a hex on you. How Peter managed to get the counter-curse I don't know, damn his diligence—and bless it, too. Snape had better watch himself tomorrow, and all the days following. If he does something to you again I really will find a way to bring immeasurable pain to him, consequences be damned. No one hurts you and lives.

'And, in conclusion, please don't point out how many times I've rhymed during this speech, nor the insane number of times I've openly violated you with my licentious stare, nor should you mention the exact amount of tears that have fallen from my eyes. Thank you. Good bloody night.'

Sirius hadn't anticipated being swung back from the staircase by a strong grip at his elbow. Remus tossed him brutally into a chair. It tilted back but Sirius was able to keep it from tipping over completely. He grabbed the rests and waited for a reprimand. Remus was panting through his nostrils, a fierce wolf about to strike. Sirius's insides quivered. He thought sickness wasn't far behind. He tried to recall all the silly things he'd said, all the nonsense, all the sentiments, and soon his eyes were plugged again with tears. He kept his head forward, hair hiding his face from Remus.

Remus stopped pacing, his thoughts collected. He returned to Sirius. Thick sheaves of black hair trembled with Sirius's faint shudders.

'You never rhymed once,' Remus began in an odd place, 'but it took you nearly twenty minutes to say everything.'

Sirius bit on his lips for a moment. 'I was trying really, really hard.'

'Seven times, at least,' continued Remus, answering the questions Sirius had not wanted thrown in his face. 'Most of which came when you were talking about Snape's binding charm. It is suggestive, I suppose.'

'Yes,' Sirius murmured. He rubbed sweaty palms against the armrests. His insides continued their strange game of leaping frog, heart over stomach, stomach over heart.

'And five.'

Five? Sirius struggled to remember what he'd said— Five what? Then he recalled. Five _tears_. Felt like more. 'Oh, right.'

Remus paced again. 'I don't know what you expect from me, Sirius.'

'Nothing. Are you interrogating me? That's hardly fair. I've just spilled my guts and now you're interrogating me? Bad form, very bad form!' Sirius grunted when he was flung out of the chair. It took his knees a second to lock, and he almost toppled over. Remus braced him. Sirius was allowed the privilege of looking at Remus for an extended second. The allegorical hills and storms in their relationship receded, and far before them was a vast, timeless universe.

Sirius admitted defeat with a sigh. 'What's it going to take, Remus, for you to trust me?'

'I do trust you,' came the quiet reply. 'Wouldn't be friends with you if I didn't. And, as you devised from your clever means of overhearing, I like you.'

Sirius's head snapped up. 'You do? So the spoiled child thing, you not wanting to give in, that's—'

The thought was revoked. In its place a passionate inspiration. Remus's forehead touched his, their noses bumped, their lips a whisper apart. The softness was undeniable. Sirius left tension behind, his soul swelling. Remus's tender hands lessened the void between them. The simple dreams he'd coaxed and nursed for four years were suddenly materialising. Giddy, surprised, Sirius found himself avoiding the kiss so yearned for and pulling back.

'I don't want you to think I'm a cosseted sod, Moony. You don't have to do this. It could change everything.'

Remus danced his gaze into Sirius's solemn grey eyes. Between Sirius and him swayed an unbreakable weave of love. Remus had always felt it. He had done all he could not to add to it, not to give Sirius a strand of false hope. 'I've never kissed anyone before,' it was a terrible thing to say, yet what he continued with was worse, 'well, there was a girl at school once, I kissed her, much in the same way I kiss my mother goodbye. Not hardly the way I want to kiss you. From what I understand, and correct me if I'm wrong, as you likely know a great deal more than I do about this, but I think . . . Sirius, isn't everything expected to change?'

Allowing silence to declare his joy, Sirius looped his arms around Remus's neck, feeling gentle, urging tugs at his waist, and melded into the cloth and heat of his desire.

Sirius drew away after a moment to savour the taste against his tongue, the salt on his lips. Remus was in him now, and now there was no return. 'Someday soon, probably not tonight, I'll be exceptionally pleased that Peter managed to unbind your trousers. Do you suppose we'll ever learn from him how he did it?'

'No, but just be grateful. Likely it's just his diligence again. He does work hard.'

'You're spoiling the mood, all this talk of Peter. Don't let's test the strength of my jealousy. All the same, please remind me in the morning, when I'm staring at you unabashed, to thank him properly, if I'm not first asked. In fact, I mean to thank him zealously. I really must stop with this bad rhyming. It could mean many sorry love notes passed to you, of course under nom du plume, so if Snape discovers it, our antics will not resume. Dammit. I must be tired.' To keep from further poetry, Sirius said one simple word, flattening himself against Remus as though for a final time before separating for the night. 'Bed?'

He felt the nod against his shoulder. As they divided, Sirius playfully unhooked Remus's belt. To his relief, it gave way. After the struggle that morning, it seemed a miracle. All the same, Sirius meant his threats, and Snape would have to learn to leave Remus J Lupin alone.

Remus slipped the belt off and wrapped it around his hand. 'I can't wait to get these clothes off. Think I'll go to Hogsmeade and get some new trousers. I'm tossing these in the rubbish. Want to go with me?'

'You mean,' Sirius watched Remus wistfully, 'like a-a social outing? A date?'

Nodding, Remus squeezed Sirius's fingers, then led the way up the narrow, winding staircase. Sirius held his breath for a moment, enjoying the view of Remus ahead of him, and left another rhyme lingering in the night.

'The next Hogsmeade weekend will be Halloween. A date, I can't believe we're going on a date. Remus, you bring me dreams; you are my fate. Dammit! Sorry.'

-x-

End.

Thank you for reading!


End file.
